


Westbury

by sweet_s0rr0w



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Muggle Culture, Sorry about the Littering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 14:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_s0rr0w/pseuds/sweet_s0rr0w
Summary: It wasn't the horse.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Westbury

**Author's Note:**

> There are loads of chalk horses around Wiltshire. I cannot remember for the life of me which exact one was in my head when I wrote this, but the most famous is the [Westbury White Horse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westbury_White_Horse).
> 
> Thanks to Em ([AvenueofESC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvenueofESC/works)) for beta-reading.
> 
> The tumblr link to this fic is [here](https://sweet-s0rr0w.tumblr.com/post/645942295438540800/westbury).

“It’s not the horse,” said Draco as they both stared up at the enormous chalk figure before them. His chin was raised, eyes narrowed, defying Harry to disagree.

“Alright,” said Harry carefully. Ten minutes earlier they’d been on their way back from a raid in Bristol, both gladly eschewing the convenience of Floo travel in favour of the glorious early autumn weather. Harry had been flying lazily, drifting in and out of the clouds, shamelessly admiring the way Draco’s lean form shifted gracefully with every change in the air currents. They’d been halfway over Wiltshire, the sky turning pink around them as the sun started to inch towards the horizon, when Draco had spun around abruptly, calling over to Harry that there was something he wanted to show him. Naturally, Harry had assumed he’d meant the Manor – recently renovated, he’d heard – but Draco had carried on flying straight overhead, barely glancing at the sprawling estate below, instead leading them gently down to the hillside. 

Around them the countryside stretched out as far as the eye could see. Wildflower meadows, recently-shorn fields of wheat, and right in the middle the one enormous hill, rising steeply from the surrounding grasslands. And carved into the side of it, a giant, fuck-off white horse. 

It was obviously the horse. There was nothing there except the horse. But Harry knew better than to disagree with Draco when he was in one of his introspective moods, so he stayed quiet. Waiting.

“Are you coming?” asked Draco suddenly, already striding off round the side of the hill. Harry shrunk his broom, feet slipping on bracken as he scrambled to catch up. Silently they moved over the rough downland, edging past thorny trees and clambering over rocks, when a sudden roar from behind them had Harry jumping backwards in surprise. He crouched behind a bush, wand out, automatically assuming the defensive stance they’d all been taught in Auror training. 

Draco merely snorted loudly and continued walking. “Put it away, Potter. Honestly, anyone would think you hadn’t been raised by Muggles.” 

The source of the noise was clearly visible now, having rounded the bend of the narrow country lane at some speed: a bright blue car – a Honda, Harry dredged up from somewhere – engine tuned to make it sound like a bloody Horntail, neon blue lighting up the road underneath, heavy bass blasting from all four windows. It was the same kind of car that had been parked behind the enormous-breasted woman on the poster that Dudley had blu-tacked up on his bedroom wall one day ( _a proper red-blooded man, our Dudders_ , Uncle Vernon had said proudly), and Harry rolled his eyes, standing up and dusting himself off as it raced past. It revved loudly, skidding to a stop just around the corner.

“Here they come,” murmured Draco, tone almost awed. Harry shook his head, completely baffled. But sure enough, a few seconds later a motorbike shot past, and by the time they’d reached the edge of the hill, the evening air was alive with the hum of engines, backfiring exhausts, and loud, excited voices. 

Draco stopped, leaning against a tree, so Harry did too. They watched for a while as groups of teenagers piled out of the vehicles, lighting up cigarettes, climbing onto roofs and bonnets. The headlights painted intersecting stripes of light up onto the hillside. Some of the men, all dressed in grey or black tracksuits, started checking out the cars, while others busily passed around six-packs of cider. A group of girls wearing identical-looking fringed leather jackets and miniskirts were huddled around the back of a van, shivering in the fresh September air as they decanted spirits into half-empty coke bottles. Harry watched, vaguely appalled, as old cans and fast-food wrappers were ejected from windows, left to lay on the ground or blow away in the wind.

“I used to come down here. During the war.” Draco’s voice was so quiet, the whole idea so incongruous, that at first Harry wondered if he’d heard him correctly.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I’d cast a Disillusionment, sit right over there.” He pointed to a bench by the side of the road, right in the middle of the crowd of Muggles.

“Alright,” said Harry, fed up with balancing awkwardly on the uneven ground, and keen to get whatever this was over and done with. “Let’s go over there, then.” And before Draco could protest, he was tugging him forward by his jacket, the last few rays of sunset vanishing as they moved into the shadow of the hill.

They sat down together on one end of the rotting bench. Draco stared down thoughtfully at the seat, where the names of hundreds of people were scratched roughly into the wood. Harry scuffed his feet through the old fag ends littering the grass, trying not to think about the warmth of Draco’s body against his, the contented hum he made as he exhaled, the familiar smell of his cologne. He chanced a quick sideways glance to find Draco watching a group of Muggles, grey eyes wide in the dim light. They were engaged in some kind of spitting competition, disgusting globs of phlegm creating little puffs of dirt as they landed on the road. Harry tried – and failed – to imagine Draco as a teenager, sitting in this exact spot. He felt a little off-kilter, as though the earth was shifting beneath him, and he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

The bench rocked suddenly as a couple landed next to them, snogging as though their lives depended on it. The man’s hands were running up and down the girl’s legs as they spread themselves out across the seat. Draco shifted instinctively to avoid them, pressing Harry’s body uncomfortably into the arm of the bench. Harry swallowed. A greasy old newspaper cone rolled past their feet, bits of battered fish still stuck to the inside.

“They’re not – I mean, _most_ Muggles wouldn’t…” Harry started, feeling strangely defensive. His voice was barely a whisper into Draco’s ear, as if the kissing couple didn’t have more pressing things to think about than disembodied voices next to them. 

Draco rolled his eyes, his breath coming hot against Harry’s cheek. “I know, Potter. But just _imagine_ it. They had no idea that not two miles away there was a house full of people who’d murder them as soon as look at them. That the future of the world as they knew it depended on some speccy prat off hiding in a tent somewhere.” He nudged Harry, fondly. “They didn’t crawl into their beds wondering if tonight was the night the werewolf down the corridor would fancy a midnight snack. They just… _were_ , you know? They were here, every week, drinking and laughing, screaming and fighting and fucking. _Living_.”

While Harry considered his reply, another couple joined them on the bench. These two licked noisily into each other’s mouths, the woman straddling her partner, which forced Draco to jump sideways until he was practically in Harry’s lap. He turned towards him, their noses almost touching now, expression partway between embarrassed and cross. Harry desperately wanted to kiss him. So he did, leaning in slowly to brush their lips together, just barely. Draco didn’t move, just took a shaky breath in through his nose, and Harry pulled away, suddenly unsure. 

Draco’s eyes were wide. “What was that?” he demanded.

Harry shrugged as best he could while his organs were slowly being crushed against a wooden armrest. “Just something I’ve been wanting to do for a while.” He tried to look casual, nodding over at the Muggles who were still necking frantically, trying to ignore the unpleasant squelching sounds and heavy breathing. “Or, you know, when in Rome…”

“So romantic, Potter,” Draco scoffed, but a reluctant smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. He stood up, extending an arm to Harry, pulling him up and pressing another chaste kiss against his lips. He kept a tight grip on Harry’s hand as he tugged him away, around the hill and back out into the dark night. “Come on then. I fancy fish and chips, what d’you reckon?”


End file.
